Aviditas
by MisfitPaperMage
Summary: Eilan Rukath, newly apprenticed to Darth Baras, has shown he has the raw power to become a key player in the Empire's efforts against the Republic. Does he have the wits, willpower, and dedication to the Dark Side of the Force to achieve both his master's goals and his own?
1. Not Herself

_Temples and tombs,_ Eilan mused as he led Vette up the broad, curving stairway into the Dark Temple. _The legacy of the Dark Side, buried in dust. What wisdom is lost every time some secretive, paranoid Sith Lord goes to his grave?_

That was what they'd come here for, long-lost Sith secrets — items and knowledge that had passed out of memory or into legend. Darth Baras had sent them to find a very specific artifact, but that didn't mean that Eilan wouldn't keep an eye out (figuratively speaking, of course) for anything else that looked valuable or useful. Anything that could give him an advantage over the Sith around him — especially a hidden or unexpected advantage — would make this little adventure worthwhile to _him_.

"Um... I know I'm supposed to be a professional treasure hunter and pirate and everything, but this place is _super _creepy," Vette piped up, interrupting her "master's" train of thought. "Worse than the tombs on Korriban, even."

Some other more oafish Sith might have laughed at her fear, or even struck her for speaking out of turn. Eilan, on the other hand, silently weighed the concern in her voice and the fizz of nervousness he could sense around her via the Force. She wasn't simply commenting on the temple's grandiose, but crumbling, architecture, or the ghoul-patrolled corridors — she felt _something_ here, dark and ephemeral and _wrong_.

And so did Eilan. This place was seething with Dark Side energy, as tangible to his Miraluka senses as the heat of a fire would be to Vette. The intensity of it was enough to make him feel slightly queasy if he "looked" at it for too long, although nausea was oversimplifying the sensation; he might also describe it as claws scraping across his brain, or his mind being turned inside out, or his blood reversing its course in his veins. He was horribly tempted to open himself to it just to see what would happen. The thought of surrendering to that power, of letting its corruption wash over and _through _him, was seductive, even erotic, and it was only reluctantly that he closed his "eyes" to the Force and returned his attention to his companion.

"The tombs on Korriban were built to commemorate individual Lords of the Sith," he explained, his voice lacking some of its usual polish as he focused on blocking out the energy around them. "This was a temple — designed as a powerful focus of the Dark Side — and many Sith died here for the darkest of purposes. I would imagine that their strength flowed into the dark fount and intensified it."

He could _feel_ them, those Sith Lords of old; their spirits (or souls, or whatever remained of them) drifted on the dark currents in the Force like flotsam on the stormy seas of Kaas. Every so often, one would brush against him, and he would instinctively lash out at it, as a swimmer would against something bumping into him in the water. So far these spirits seemed... not harmless, because they weren't, but quiescent. _But these were Sith,_ he reminded himself. _It is power they respect, and power they crave. If I draw heavily on the Force while here, who knows what attention I might draw? _Of course, he wasn't going to handicap himself based on such a supposition; if he needed to reach into the Force to fend off the mind-addled soldiers and slaves here, he would. But he'd do so with the assumption that he was being watched by unfriendly eyes.

"You're not afraid of ghosts, are you, Vette?" he asked his companion, a hint of mockery in his voice.

"'Course not!" the Twi'lek girl replied indignantly. "Long-dead Sith? Can't possibly be scarier than the live ones."

Eilan wasn't sure if he was included in that statement or not, but he chuckled quietly anyway as he led his companion deeper into the temple's shadowy halls.

* * *

Within an hour, the Sith apprentice was forced to revise his understanding of the ghostly presences in this place. It seemed that some of the disembodied spirits had taken control of slaves, soldiers, and even Sith who had been sent here to investigate the site. Eilan could only assume that no one was truly immune to possession; he tried his best to guard both himself and Vette against any aggressive spirits, but he wasn't entirely sure what form such an attack would take.

As a precaution, he warned Vette not to touch anything until he'd had a chance to examine it first. Given her background, he expected her to be on the lookout for anything that seemed valuable, and in fact, he was counting on it, since that was at the heart of their task here. But it was all too easy to imagine some holocron or lightsaber hilt or the like, imbued with the Dark Side energies of this place and bound to one of the restless spirits; who knew what would happen if someone were to try to pick up and use such a thing?

That worked well enough for a little while, and the apprentice had already deemed a jeweled trinket and a bizarre little stone figurine too potentially dangerous to bother with. But old habits were hard to break; one moment, Vette was reaching for a gleaming shard of some darkly reflective metal, calling for Eilan to come see — and the next, she was writhing on the stone floor, clutching her head and moaning unintelligibly.

"Vette? If this is your idea of a joke, it lacks style," Eilan said shortly, his unignited lightsaber in his hand as he cautiously approached her. His Force sight warned him that this was no hoax, however, and he stopped in his tracks as the Twi'lek stilled, then sat up. Her bearing was subtly different, and the aura around her was entirely wrong.

"What are you— How _dare _you brandish a lightsaber at me, you insolent cur!" not-Vette snapped. Her voice, suddenly older and harsher, rang with the commanding tone of a Sith Lord who expected to be obeyed. "Drop your weapon and grovel at my feet," she snarled as she stood up, "and perhaps I'll let you live to crawl away!"

"I think not," Eilan replied, smiling in a way that he knew infuriated his betters. "I don't even know who you are."

"I am Lord Edacis, and you will address me as such, slave!"

_A name I shall look into later, _Eilan promised himself. At the moment, he was more concerned with freeing his servant from this body-thief. There seemed to be little point in trying to reason with her — the other possessing spirits they'd encountered so far had been firm in their belief that they were alive and in their proper bodies. No, if the ghost was to be driven out, it would have to be done by force somehow, and in such a way that Vette would be left unharmed.

"I am no slave — I am Sith," he said out loud, pouring arrogance into the words, "and I think it is you who will kneel in the end, _Lord_ Edacis." As he spoke, he raised his free hand, gathering energy into a nimbus around it. It was an open threat, and "Edacis" reacted as Eilan expected her to, lashing out with her own power to preempt his attack. The bolts of Force lightning were every bit as searingly hot as they would have been from a living Sith. Rather than steeling himself against the agony, however, the apprentice opened himself to it, embraced it, and laughed as he felt himself skirting unconsciousness. _Peace is a lie; there is only pain. Pain fuels passion. Passion becomes strength..._

He was vaguely aware that he had fallen to one knee, but that would be of no consequence in a moment. "Edacis" was still channeling lightning into him as he slammed his hand to the floor, releasing the power he'd gathered into a shockwave that rocked the ersatz Sith Lord on her feet. As she stumbled for balance, her attack faltered, and Eilan was ready; without a flamboyant warning this time, he surrounded her with Dark Side energy, smothering her with the intensity of his aura. Even as she continued to attack, lightning sparking from her hands, he could feel her recoil in dismay at his sudden show of strength, and that hesitation was the break he needed.

Within the Force, he sought out Vette's familiar presence, buried beneath Edacis's venomous spirit. Once he found her, seemingly unconscious of what was happening within her own body, he could begin to see where she left off and Edacis began. The ghost had latched on to Vette like a spiritual leech, but now that Eilan had exposed the connection, he could cut the parasite away.

"What— What are you doing, you fool?" Edacis shrieked as the Sith apprentice pried her away from Vette. His hands pantomimed his purely Force-bound actions, fingers curled into taut hooks as if he could physically grab hold of the spirit and tear her out of Vette's body.

"You're trying to steal something that belongs to me," he said coldly, "and I won't stand for it."

The ghostly Sith Lord's only reply was a wordless cry of defiance, but the more Eilan loosened her connection to Vette, the weaker she seemed to become. The feeble lightning that she summoned as a desperate last resort felt like a mere tickle after her earlier attack, and the Miraluka _tsk_'ed in disappointment.

"Is that the best you've got, my lord?" he asked, his tone making the title of respect into just the opposite. It was an excruciating effort to sound so nonchalantly dismissive, but an insult had to be delivered properly, or not at all, in his book. "Pathetic. Unfortunately for you, I prefer partners with a bit more stamina, so it looks like this is farewell."

With a final wrench, he pulled Edacis's consciousness away from Vette and cast it into the temple's currents, then quickly recentered himself within his body, in case the ghost tried to possess him next. The moment of disorientation that followed left him unable to react in time to catch his companion, who, freed of her unwanted tenant, crumpled to the floor like a discarded toy. Wincing in chagrin, Eilan stooped to pick her up; her slender frame was a light burden in his arms.

As he turned towards the temple's entryway, he thought he felt a swirl of hot, bitter spite in the darkness around him, but he was dangerously spent now, and it was hard to tell what he was truly sensing versus what he was conjuring from his own imagination. Regardless of whether the spark of ill intent was real or imagined, however, it was time to leave this place, before another ghost could take advantage of his state of weakness.

Carefully hoisting Vette's small, limp form over his shoulder to leave his sword arm free, Eilan made his way out of the haunted temple, projecting his foul mood as both a warning and a threat to any other opportunistic spirits.

* * *

He felt Vette's return to consciousness, the same way he felt anyone's: a slow unfolding, much like a flower bud opening. She seemed startled, then confused, at her surroundings: the infirmary tent at the outpost on the outskirts of the temple grounds. Suppressing his amusement, Eilan artfully excused himself from his conversation with one of the Imperial officers stationed here and returned to where he'd left his companion.

"So, you're awake?" he inquired as he drew close to her cot. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him with an expression of consternation.

"What happened? Did I get hurt? I mean, I feel okay, and I don't see any bandages, so..." As the little Twi'lek spoke, she sat all the way up and looked herself over for signs of injury.

"Hurt? Not physically, no." The qualifier made Vette pause and look up at him in surprise.

"'Not physically?' You don't mean that I... those things in the temple..." She held her hands to the sides of her head, as if shielding herself from the truth — or from further ghostly incursions.

"Yes. For a few minutes, you were a Sith Lord," Eilan replied with a wry smile. "Not a very competent one, as far as I was concerned, but you were certainly not yourself."

"Oh." Vette seemed to chew on that for a while before admitting, "I don't remember any of it! Did we fight?"

"Of course," the Miraluka snorted. "How else do Sith solve anything?"

"True," she agreed with a nervous laugh. "I guess you won, then?"

"Of course," Eilan repeated, grinning. "Or you wouldn't be here, would you?"

"Huh. Right. But..." The girl paused for a moment, frowning slightly in thought. "How did you get me, um, un-possessed?"

There was an implicit _why _alongside her _how_, although Eilan wasn't sure that she herself was aware of it. They'd struck down the possessed troopers and slaves and Sith that they'd encountered in the temple; why had he decided to try to save her, and how had he done so?

Unfortunately for her, he had no particular desire to answer either question.

"Oh, simple enough," the apprentice said with a lazy shrug. "Once I'd stunned her — you, that is — I kissed you."

"_What?!_" Vette exclaimed, loud enough to draw curious looks from the nearby troopers. Embarrassed at the sudden attention, she continued in a quieter, but vehement, undertone, "Liar, you did not!"

She wasn't entirely sure he _was_ lying, though, that was the fun of it. Eilan decided to prod her further. "I did. _With tongue._I suppose 'Lord Edacis' didn't care much for it."

"You... you're such a..." Eilan only smirked at the Twi'lek's speechlessness, and she threw her hands up in frustration. "I don't believe you, you know."

"Believe what you will, my dear," he said with a coy smile. "Just remember, I could have left you wandering the halls of the temple like those other mindless puppets."

That seemed to finally drive home for Vette just how much danger she had been in. Eilan felt her mood suddenly shift from exasperation to confused gratitude, but before she could say something awkward and sentimental, he preemptively silenced her, gently pressing his fingers to her lips. Uncharacteristically obedient for the moment, she stared up at him, but Eilan knew she'd learn nothing from the cold, intricately worked metal of his eyemask. Just the way he preferred it.

"Rest tonight," he said finally, breaking the tension as he stepped back from her cot. "We're going back tomorrow."

"Seriously? _Ugh._" The Twi'lek sighed dramatically and flopped back down, pulling her pillow over her face. "Do we get hazard pay for this, or what?"

"What? You think we're getting paid for this?" It was a running joke of sorts between the two of them, and Eilan laughed at the girl's exaggerated groan of dismay.

Satisfied that Vette seemed none the worse for her brief possession, the apprentice bid her a good evening and made his way out of the infirmary. His blood was still up after the fight with Edacis, and that trooper captain had seemed _quite _friendly after Eilan had retrieved the archaeological data he'd wanted. Perhaps today wouldn't be a total loss, after all...

* * *

_Author's Notes: _Our guild had a little writing contest for Halloween, and the idea was to write something Halloween-ish.. spooky, dark, scary, etc. I went with a Sith-style haunted house romp. ;P


	2. Arrangements

The Rukath estate, southeast of Kaas City, felt the same as it ever did. _But then,_ Eilan mused as he steered the small landspeeder, _I haven't been gone for very long, in truth. _His training on Korriban had been accelerated, and it hadn't been long before Darth Baras had requested his presence here on Dromund Kaas. Willing to be the perfect model of a Sith apprentice for the time being, Eilan had taken care of his master's tasks before requesting leave to visit his family. Perhaps Baras knew the precise reason the young man wished to go; it wouldn't have surprised Eilan. The Darth revealed nothing, however, as he granted his apprentice two days of freedom before taking up his work again.

"Sooo... this is the ol' homestead, huh?" Vette asked, looking at the orchards as they flew by.

"More or less. This is where I lived until I went to Korriban to complete my training." Perhaps part of him thought of this place as "home" by default; after all, it had been where he'd spent his formative years. But _home_ sometimes still conjured up memories of a small, cozy apartment in the upper levels of Coruscant, not too far from the Jedi Temple. Or so his parents had always said; he'd never been to the Temple. He could _feel _it in the Force, buzzing like a hive of bees, but when he'd said so as a small child, his father had told him sternly not to listen to it.

_And so the Jedi never found me. And here I am._

Though he said nothing further, Vette seemed to catch on to his distinction between _living place _and _home_, and asked no more questions until they reached the residential compound.

"I would ask that you be on your best behavior in front of my father," Eilan said quietly as two guards made their way from the main building to greet them.

"What, like a 'real' slave?" There was an edge in the Twi'lek's voice, resentment with a touch of fear. Eilan focused on the latter.

"Be properly respectful," he said in a tone he usually reserved for threats. "My lord father may be somewhat more tolerant of aliens than most, but he will not hesitate to put you in your place if he feels you need it."

"So, just like every other Sith ever, then?"

Eilan turned towards his flippant companion; while he could not glare at her, he could demonstrate his displeasure to her with the strength of his aura. She shifted slightly in discomfort. "Do not make me fight him because of you, Vette," he said succinctly. "Not today."

His uncharacteristic hostility finally seemed to make an impression on her. She knew why today, in particular, was significant; he'd given her a brief explanation of his errand before asking her to come along. Perhaps it might have been safer for her to remain in the city, but... In truth, he realized that he wanted to give her a glimpse into where he came from, whatever that might be worth.

Maybe sometime he could actually bring himself to tell her that. But not right now, as she sat in disgruntled silence while they waited for the guards to reach the speeder and verify Eilan's identity.

"Welcome home, my Lord," one of them said with a bow as the Miraluka stepped out of the speeder.

"Thank you, Lantais. Vette, come along." Eilan waved for the Twi'lek to join him, and she did so with alacrity. With her at his heels, he entered the house, casting about for any changes, and for any sign of his family.

_The furniture in the den seems to have been shifted around, and it seems that the floor's been redone, but naught else seems different. _ He wondered at his own expectations that things should have changed since he was gone. _I suppose it's felt far longer to me than it's truly been. Longer in experience than in time, perhaps._

Behind him, Vette was taking in the household, perhaps calculating the worth of the assorted artifacts and decor on display. She was impressed, that much he could tell, but too stubborn (and probably still too offended from earlier) to admit it. Well. He could apologize later, but not here. Not when he could sense his lord father two rooms away, in his study.

With a brief touch on his companion's arm to catch her attention, he crossed the foyer and led her into the east wing of the house. Lord Pavel's study was the second room down, and the door was open; a greeting boomed out before Eilan had quite made it to the doorway.

"Eilan! I'd say it was about time you made your way home, but I hear you've been busy!" Pavel had risen from his chair, and now reached out to clasp hands with his adopted son.

"Just a tad," Eilan replied with a slight smile, returning the gesture. He felt Pavel's attention flick to Vette; he dismissed her as unimportant for the time being, but there would be questions later, Eilan was certain. For the moment, though, the Sith Lord seemed content to regard his protégé, his decade-long project, with pride.

"Hand-picked apprentice of Darth Baras! An impressive honor, my boy." The older man's voice dropped to a less boisterous volume. "And a dangerous one. I'm sure I needn't tell you—watch your back."

Eilan inclined his head. "Always, my Lord."

"Good, good." Pavel looked back to his desk and retrieved a datapad, glancing briefly at the words on the screen before nodding to himself. "How long a respite do you have?" he asked as he returned his attention to the younger Sith.

"I must be back tomorrow," Eilan replied, shading his voice with a touch of regret. "In truth, I was lucky to get even that much."

"Oh, I'm certain," Pavel agreed. "Quite gracious of Darth Baras to give you the time to come home, even if for a night. I suppose we should settle the contract now, though." He handed the datapad to Eilan. "Dia's already read it. If you've no objections to the language, we'll get it signed and registered."

The Miraluka nodded absently as he activated the small receiver in his ear. With a few button presses on the datapad, a cool feminine voice began to recite the words of the contract to him. Most of it was quite standard for a Sith marriage contract; he paid particular attention for any clauses that seemed unusual.

_A divorce may be sought by either party, for any reason; however, claims of abuse or violence will be investigated in order to protect the estate of the accused as well as the accuser._

That was actually a standard stipulation in a marriage where a Sith was involved, but it brought a humorless grin to his lips. It reminded him of his earliest days in the Rukath home, some few months after his arrival on Dromund Kaas. He'd been subjected to a barrage of questioning, Force-testing, and medical examination up until then, his status somewhere at the intersection of lab specimen, prisoner, and slave. Once the Imperials had been satisfied by whatever they'd discovered, Pavel had taken the calculated risk of bringing his prize into his household.

Diarwen, unsurprisingly, had detested him on sight. Even at that age, she had been made aware of her parents' disappointment in her lack of Force ability, and to have this alien child with power to spare suddenly thrust into her life only increased her sense of rejection. In retaliation, she made Eilan's life utterly miserable.

Pavel made no attempt to interfere; looking back on it now, Eilan supposed that he was expected to take care of himself when amongst his peers. After all, what sort of Sith let himself be bullied? But it took years for the young Miraluka to gain the confidence to stand up for himself in a proactive manner, rather than merely lashing out when cornered, like an animal. Until then, he was fair game.

Sometimes, though, Dia's reach exceeded her grasp. Half a year into Eilan's new life as an Imperial, his sister somehow managed to knock an ornate antique vase to the floor, shattering it into a several dozen little pieces. It might have been repairable, but its value was almost certainly ruined. Naturally, the girl attempted to blame her unwanted brother for the deed, blatantly lying to her father's face when the two of them were summoned to explain the incident.

Eilan had seethed at the lie, but he'd had no chance to protest his innocence before Pavel slapped Diarwen across the face. As she fell to her knees, radiating humiliation, fear, and anger, her father said in a measured tone, "You must learn to be a far better liar if you wish to deceive a Sith, Dia. Until then, do not waste my time or your breath." He looked up at Eilan and pointed to the door. "Go."

The boy heard Dia choke back a sob as he quickly left the room and closed the door behind him; at that moment in time, her misery was a balm to his own.

_And now we're supposed to marry each other,_ Eilan thought with bleak amusement, his mind returning to the present. _Fortunately for me, she never became a brilliant liar._

The only other language in the contract that stood out was the very carefully worded custody clause. In virtually every case, custody of any and all children had been ceded to Diarwen. In the event that she was unable to provide care—whether because of death, illness, incarceration or what-have-you—Lord Pavel was the next choice. The contract wrote Eilan entirely out of the lives of any of his children with Diarwen if something happened to part them, which, if he were honest with himself, was strongly likely.

It was... a wrinkle. He could only guess it was because of his non-human status, and the fact that any children of theirs would be Lord Pavel's inheritors. And, too, if he continued to serve Darth Baras as directly as he did now, he would have a difficult time acting as a single parent if the need arose. Leaving the children with Diarwen was the logical, and palatable (for an Imperial) choice, and that gave him little room to protest.

_Ah, well._ _It wasn't as if I _wanted _any little brats, anyway._ "I have no objections, my Lord," he said out loud as he handed the datapad back.

"Very well. We'll need Dia and a witness, then." It went without saying—in Pavel's mind—that Vette would never do as a legitimate witness, particularly to something as important as a formal betrothal. The Sith Lord was reaching for his holocomm when a voice at the door stopped him.

"Dia is here, Father."

Eilan turned to regard his adoptive sister. She seemed collected, but a layer of resentment and apprehension simmered below her well-trained facade of propriety.

"Dear sister. I hope you've been well," the Miraluka said politely, inwardly pleased at how his urbanity seemed to catch her off-guard.

"Eilan," she greeted him coolly. Her glance slid over to Vette, and Eilan felt the sudden outburst of emotion hidden behind her mask of disdain: mostly offended anger, with a hint of jealousy and a tinge of shame. When she finally found her words again, however, she spoke in the bored, slightly irritated tone of a jaded noble. "I must say, it takes a great deal of nerve to bring a whore into the house on the day you're signing your betrothal contract."

He gave no warning, but simply slapped her, just hard enough to shock her into silence. The sound rang in the sudden quiet for an obscenely long moment.

"That is for insulting Vette to her face, and for thinking I would be so crass and so stupid," Eilan said coldly. He felt Diarwen recoil, not just physically, but mentally. With her mask shattered, he could sense that she was well and truly _frightened_ of him now. Perhaps she'd finally realized that he was no longer the little foundling boy she could rule over as the heir of the household; he was the apprentice of one of the most powerful Sith in the Empire, and would soon become her husband. The boundaries of her life were changing, and once again it was his fault, his doing.

He would have to savor her fear at another time, however. At the moment, he had to do his best to show Vette's value, before Pavel decided to be rid of her for Dia's sake.

_At least she's had the sense to keep her mouth shut so far. _Indeed, he could feel through the Force that the Twi'lek was on edge and nervous. Perhaps she understood the particular kind of danger she was in at the moment. Not that that always stopped her from running her mouth, but she was clever enough to see what Eilan stood to lose if he had to physically defend her from his father.

_And now to address that._ The Miraluka turned to Lord Pavel and inclined his head in a brief bow. "Vette here was a gift from Darth Baras, given to me on the eve of completing my trials on Korriban," he said smoothly. "She is an accomplished treasure hunter, and was of invaluable assistance both in the tombs of Korriban and the Dark Temple here on Kaas."

Pavel turned his full attention to Vette, and Eilan could feel his companion's tension under the scrutiny. "A 'treasure hunter'? In other words, a thief, probably caught desecrating the tombs, yes?" the Sith asked in a neutral tone.

Before Vette could speak up and put her foot in it, Eilan answered for her. "You are correct, of course, my Lord. However, a useful tool is not hastily discarded."

"Hmph." It was hard to tell if Pavel's grunt was of grudging agreement or of skepticism, but he dropped the subject of Vette's criminal activities. "The Dark Temple, you say? You actually went _in?_"

"Certainly." Eilan smiled thinly. He'd played that card quite deliberately, knowing it would pique the man's interest. "At the behest of Darth Baras, of course."

"A challenging assignment, but one with great rewards, I would assume." It was a question phrased as a statement; Pavel was naturally curious about what Baras would have wanted badly enough to throw his apprentice into such danger.

It wasn't Eilan's place to speak of what he'd retrieved for his master, however, and the paranoid Darth was even higher on his list of people not to offend than Lord Pavel. "So it would seem, my Lord," he said with a slight shrug, as if to imply that Baras's machinations were beyond him. "'Challenging' is a fair assessment."

"But what is it like?" Pavel finally deigned to ask. "The rumors I've heard are absolutely outrageous, full of..." he waved a hand brusquely, "mystical babbling." While the art of sorcery was every bit as valid an application of the Force as using it in a more directly physical fashion, the veteran warrior had little patience for discussion of the metaphysics involved.

"I daresay there was some kernel of truth in what you've heard." The Miraluka smiled at Pavel's incredulity. "The place is, for lack of a better word, haunted, and many of the ghosts there are, or were, Sith, all waiting to seize the unwary minds and bodies of any who enter their domain. The entire temple seethes with dark energies and darker intentions." Dramatic, yes, but he wanted to properly convey the atmosphere and danger of the place.

He felt a peculiar jolt from Diarwen as he finished his description, a ripple of apprehension centered on his words. _She has no reason to fear Sith ghosts—she'd never have to set foot anywhere near the Temple. So then what...?_

After a moment, he realized her attention, and her fear, were focused on _him_. _Ah. "Dark energies and darker intentions"... Is that what you think of _me, _dear sister? How droll._

"Haunted, eh?" Pavel still sounded dubious, but he didn't doubt that Eilan, at least, believed what he had said. "Are they still sending those Reclamation Service fools in there, then, or are they cutting their losses?"

"Well, _my_ advice to anyone who would listen was to stay out, but I'm not making the decisions out there," the Miraluka said with a broad shrug. "I'd not return to the place lightly, I'll say that much."

"Hmph." Despite his skepticism about the true danger of the Temple, Pavel seemed pleased by the fact that Eilan had gone there and survived. His concerns with Vette forgotten, he reached for the marriage contract again.

"Father," Diarwen said suddenly, "I need to speak to you before..." She glanced at the datapad in his hand, as if afraid to say the words out loud.

Pavel sighed in clear exasperation. "Briefly, Dia." He nodded towards the door, indicating that Eilan should leave. The Miraluka did so in silence, waving for Vette to follow. The door slid shut behind them.

"Nice family ya got here," the Twi'lek said in an undertone as they walked farther down the hall.

Eilan smiled thinly at his companion as he stopped in front of a closed door. They could not hear the conversation from here, but he could clearly feel Diarwen's uneasiness and Pavel's irritation. It seemed that Dia hadn't realized how Eilan's presence would affect her before she agreed to sign the contract. Not that she really had much choice; Pavel would insist she marry someone with power (both in the Force and in Imperial society), and wouldn't someone she knew, someone who was more or less family already, be preferable to a total stranger?

Or such was Pavel's reasoning, at any rate. Despite, or perhaps because of, Dia's admitted attraction to him—and that was years ago, now—she might well be happier with someone she didn't know at all.

_Hmm. I suppose I should try to be a little more charming, for now._

"Do you think she'll try to call it off?" Vette asked curiously. It seemed that even immersion into a strained Sith household couldn't keep her down for long.

Eilan shook his head. "She might _try_, but I don't think she can. Lord Pavel has invested great deal of time, effort, money, and social capital into grooming me for this; unless I do something completely and utterly reprehensible, I don't believe he'll let her out of the arrangement."

"Contracts, investments, arrangements... is this a business deal or a marriage?"

"A bit of both," the Sith replied dryly. Before he could elaborate, the door to Pavel's study opened, and Dia leaned out, presumably to look for them. Eilan waved to her to save her the trouble of calling him. "And now," he murmured to Vette, "on with the show."

It was easy enough to tell that Pavel had put his foot down; Eilan could clearly sense his grim steadfastness as he re-entered the room. Dia, on the other hand, was miserable, and struggling to hide it. There was an aura of despair around her, not just from this forced marriage, but from some older, deeper wound. Eilan suspected that her father had raised the point of her utter uselessness to him in order to guilt her into agreement. No Force abilities, no military inclinations, relatively little political instinct: Diarwen was a poor heir to the Rukath name, and Pavel wanted a better candidate, a grandchild, in his lifetime.

Eilan could almost pity her. Almost. Still, if he could ease her mind somewhat, this entire process would go much more smoothly.

"Dia," he said quietly. She turned to him quickly; he seldom used her nickname, preferring simply to address her as _dear sister_. "I won't keep you against your will. Your father wishes an heir from us; once that is done, you may leave if you wish. I would not hold you back."

She was staring at him, he realized, and the tenor of her thoughts was clear enough: was he rejecting her even before they'd wed? Eilan realized he had to head off that train of thought before it entrenched itself. Reaching out to her through the Force, he nudged one tiny seed of an idea towards her, one that he hoped would take root and grow: _I want you to be happy._

He wasn't schooled in the mind-manipulation that both Jedi and Sith used with impunity, but knowing that it was possible, he'd experimented lightly on the people around him for years. Little suggestions, deflections, second-guesses, minute things that the average person would never detect as a foreign influence. This was perhaps the most important attempt he'd ever made, and time seemed to slow as he waited for his sister's reaction.

Finally, she nodded in acceptance, and Eilan felt the despair threatening to drown her recede somewhat. "Very well," she said evenly, "let us sign and get this over with."

Pavel's chamberlain, a retired Navy officer named Holson, was summoned to witness the signing, which was a simple matter of the couple affixing their fingerprints to the contract. After all of the drama leading up to it, it was quite anti-climactic, Eilan reflected.

_So now I am officially betrothed. _He hadn't expected to feel very strongly about it, and he still didn't, really, but the awareness of that contract now sat in the back of his mind, quietly looming over his thoughts. _I'm committed, now. Provided I survive that long, of course._

Given the tension in the house, and despite his gentle appeal to Diarwen, the Miraluka thought it best if he returned to Kaas City, rather than staying the night. He expressed his polite regrets to Pavel, who he suspected agreed with him, then turned to his sister, whose attention snapped to him as if he were a hungry vine cat crossing her path.

"I hope you'll look upon me more kindly the next time I return, dear sister," he murmured before kissing her hand in courtly fashion. She didn't _quite_ snatch her hand away, which he took as a positive sign.

"Take care, my boy," Pavel said gruffly. "The brighter you shine—"

"The more vermin I attract," Eilan finished with a sharp grin. "I'll be mindful, my Lord."

* * *

The wind whipping past his face as they sped back to the city was a welcome feeling, a kind of cleansing after wallowing in the treacherous mud of his family affairs. Vette was quiet beside him, but he could tell that she was dying to say something. He decided to give her an opening.

"Thank you for playing nicely, Vette. I think you can see why I asked it of you."

"Uh, _yeah._" Disbelief tinted the usual sarcasm in her voice. "Is it like that all the time? Between you and her?"

"More or less, I suppose. We have not had the most comfortable relationship, growing up," Eilan admitted freely.

"Then why are you getting married? I mean, if you don't like each other, isn't it kind of a bad deal on both sides? Are you really just gonna have a kid and split up?"

Eilan gave his companion a sardonic grin. "You compared it to a business deal before, and you were right. Look at it this way: an heir is my repayment to Lord Pavel for training me and, it must be said, helping to get me into a very enviable position. Without his backing, I probably wouldn't have made it to the Academy at that particular time, when the confluence of events brought me to Darth Baras's attention."

"Sooo... You _literally_ owe it to him to give him a grandkid, huh?" Vette still sounded dubious.

"Making children isn't a particularly onerous task, Vette," the Miraluka said with a sly grin.

"You are so... _ugh._" The Twi'lek threw up her hands in exasperation. "Just seems like... Well, it's not very... _family_, you know?" She made a drawing-together motion with her hands, implying closeness and unity.

"No... but it's what I have now," Eilan said evenly. "It will have to do."

Picking up on the Sith's desire to end that line of conversation, Vette subsided, and the rest of the ride to Kaas City passed in silence.


	3. Extraneous Variables

For Imperial Navy Lieutenant Malavai Quinn, the midday meal offered an excellent opportunity to catch up on reading assorted memoranda, mail and other communications, an activity that could be easily and neatly managed while he ate. Today he had one particular piece of correspondence that needed prompt attention, and it was this file he perused on his datapad in between bites of bland insta-cook flangth. If he'd been focused on the food, he might have been able to point out at least half a dozen ways to improve the decidedly inferior meal, but the entire point of an insta-cook pack was to reserve his attention for more important matters.

_Like a dossier on Darth Baras's new apprentice._ The ever-unpredictable Sith Lord had informed him that the apprentice was on his way to Balmorra to "clean house"—in other words, he was going to scrub Baras's embedded agent, and it would be up to Quinn to give him the intel and logistical support to do so.

_Why does a Sith apprentice need to be brought in to do this?_

The mildly traitorous notion had barely voiced itself before Quinn ruthlessly squashed it. _Darth Baras has reasons upon reasons for every move he makes. It is not for me to question his designs, merely to assist them in whatever way I can. _And in order to do that, he would be best served by making himself familiar with the apprentice's capabilities and inclinations. "Inclinations" wouldn't matter terribly much with an Imperial soldier; they were to follow orders, not whims. When dealing with a Sith, however, they were important variables to keep in mind when making plans, suggestions, and calculations.

Unfortunately for Quinn's peace of mind, there was relatively little data provided on young Eilan Rukath. _Rukath... Sith nobility. What information about a young lord would need to be kept so thoroughly under wraps?_ He made a mental note to cross-check the name in a moment; more research seemed called for when he had been given so few details.

It didn't cross his mind for a moment that he should have been content with the limited information. He hadn't risen to Lieutenant in such short order by happily accepting blinders, after all. (He chose to overlook the fact that his desire to go above and beyond had ensured he hadn't risen _farther_ than Lieutenant in a decade.) In order to do his job to the best of his ability, he needed more data, and that was that.

The real question was, _why_ was there so little information? To begin with, there was no holoimage, which was highly unusual for a dossier of this type. How could he have immediate visual recognition of this apprentice without a reference? To be sure, one couldn't simply impersonate a Sith, but it was well within the realm of possibility that some other Sith Lord would concoct a plot to supplant Darth Baras's apprentice with his own...

Even worse than the lack of data was the clear _suppression_ of data. Several key pieces of information, such as the apprentice's homeworld and parentage, were flagged with "INSUFFICIENT CLEARANCE". For basic information about a mere Sith apprentice to be classified above Quinn's clearance level was... well, it was thoroughly out of the ordinary. Who or what was this Eilan Rukath?

Forgetting his meal entirely, Quinn rose and went to his Imperial datanet console. A few moments of searching confirmed some of the data in the dossier, and offered just a little more. The Rukaths were a minor noble family on Dromund Kaas, and Quinn recalled some of the scornful talk that had circulated among the upper classes, years ago, when it became increasingly obvious that the daughter of the family had no connection to the Force. Lady Ashalle had died in battle during the War, which Quinn remembered, but during his long quasi-exile on Balmorra, it seemed that the Rukaths' situation had changed dramatically.

From what he could gather, this "Eilan", demonstrably powerful in the Force, had been adopted into the family to marry the daughter. It was a very old-fashioned sort of arrangement, but Lord Pavel was an old-fashioned sort of Lord in some ways. The real question was, where had Eilan come from? If he were from a Sith family and displayed enough talent as a child for Lord Pavel to want him, why would his own family have given him up, rather than simply arranging the marriage?

The lack of information about the apprentice's background suggested to Quinn that it was being withheld to maintain the reputations of the Rukath family and Eilan himself. Perhaps he was an illegitimate child born to another Sith Lord... or perhaps—and Quinn found this more likely—the boy had been a slave, but had displayed such potential that Lord Pavel was willing to take the inevitable black mark for adopting him in order to secure his family's legacy.

_He would have to be exceptional in _some _way for Darth Baras to take him on, at any rate._ The sparse notes of the apprentice's exploits in Baras's service underscored that; he had apparently ventured into the Dark Temple on Dromund Kaas—more than once!—and lived to tell the tale, recovering both personnel and valuable artifacts and data in the process. He had also been implicated in the death of the son of the troublesome Lord Grathan, which was interesting... The boy's very existence had been a secret until his death was publicly announced. He had presumably been killed to bring Grathan into line, but while several sources indicated Eilan's presence on Grathan's holdings that day, no formal accusations had been filed. Quinn took that to mean that the apprentice had been involved, but Grathan had (probably wisely) chosen not to seek recourse—not openly, at least.

All in all, the data Quinn had was certainly fascinating, but there was simply too little information for him to plan around. He would have to improvise—a dirty word in his lexicon, no matter how good he was at it. Proper preparation made improvisation simpler in situations that required it, but he'd be nothing like _properly_ prepared for this apprentice. Not by his own standards, at any rate.

But... perhaps that was the point. Was this a challenge handed to him by Darth Baras? To see how well he could plan and adapt to the extraneous variables that were inevitably brought into play while working with Sith? It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd had to act as a key contact for a Sith Lord unfamiliar with Balmorra's state of affairs, but it might have been the most complex mission he'd been told to plan with so little information beforehand. If this _were _some sort of test...

Well. He'd pass it with top marks by putting forth his utmost effort, as he always did. His certainty was fueled not by overconfidence, but by experience, determination, and sheer force of will. Regardless of the task or the reasons behind it, for Lieutenant Quinn, failure had never been, and never would be, a viable option.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Just a little wandering around in Quinn's headspace. I think working for Darth Baras encompasses the concept of "the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing". :P


	4. Defining the Battlefield

Eilan smirked as he heard someone—presumably their contact, Lieutenant Quinn—sharply dressing down a subordinate. Reaching out through the Force, he could tell that the subordinate was shaken and humiliated, as seemed appropriate, but in contrast, he felt nothing at all from the superior officer—not a hint of the irritation that suffused the man's words.

_A block, from a non-Force-sensitive? _That was what it felt like: as if the officer's emotions had been blocked by a screen, or a wall. _Someone with a drop of Force sensitivity _can't _have risen to lieutenant without it being noticed..._ It was an interesting little puzzle. Perhaps some people could block naturally, with no other Force talent... or perhaps it was trainable, although if _that_ were true, he might expect every spy from both the Republic and Empire to have the skill. Whatever the case, he could see why this officer would be a useful operative in Baras's network.

"Well, what do you think? Is he handsome?" Eilan whispered to Vette. It was another of their little games to lighten the inevitable dull moments that came with acting in an official capacity. Being brought up in a noble household had prepared him well for tedious formalities, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try to alleviate his boredom as he saw fit. In reality, this particular "game" was less frivolous than it might have seemed; Vette had an excellent eye for detail—perhaps not a surprising trait in a treasure hunter—and Eilan frequently found her observations useful.

"Huh. I guess, if you like that type," the Twi'lek reported. "Dark hair, blue eyes, mid-thirties maybe, clean-cut, 'cept he's rocking the 5 o'clock shadow. Not scruffy, though,really, just... well, I guess some guys just have that, yeah?"

Eilan made a sound of agreement as he turned Vette's description over in his mind. He would never know what "dark" really looked like, nor understand what "blue" was, but he knew that combination was a little unusual. "Striking, would you say?"

Vetted "hmm"ed appraisingly. "Not from this far away. Just looks like another stuff-shirt officer."

"_Then _focus, _Jillins!"_ the aforementioned officer hissed to his subordinate. The threat in his voice made Eilan grin (admittedly, mostly because of Jillins's increasing apprehension), but again, it only highlighted the absence of the expected matching emotion in the Force. _How thoroughly peculiar._

The apprentice took the dismissal of the cowed soldier as his cue, and crossed the room to introduce himself to his new contact. The unforeseen Force handicap was something to be investigated later, but for now, he remained polite, proper, and on his toes. Judging by the rather messy state of affairs on Balmorra, there would be time enough for playing games with the lieutenant—_after_ he'd gotten a firmer idea of the house rules...

* * *

Lieutenant Quinn cursed inwardly as an imposing figure, armored and caped in black and grey, leaned casually against the distant door frame. He'd gotten too caught up in giving Corporal Jillins a well-deserved reprimand when he should have kept his office clear today in anticipation of the Sith apprentice's arrival. Now he looked (and felt) unprepared—not the first impression he wanted to make. After a last acidic rebuke, he dismissed the rattled corporal and gave his guest (or _guests_, since the Twi'lek slave mentioned in earlier communiques was at the Sith's side) his complete attention as the apprentice crossed the room.

Quinn had just a few seconds to make what visual observations what he could before conversation began. _Not as heavy a build as I would expect for a Soresu adept. Light on his feet, and in lighter armor than most of that school, as well. Armor is not designed for intimidation, aside from perhaps its color. Heavy cape is an aristocratic choice, but that makes sense, given his background. No apparent cybernetics. Odd choice for a Sith to wear a visor rather than a full facemask. Concealed scars or cybernetics there? There _is _scarring on his face, not fresh; may predate training on Korriban? Clean-cut. Confident stance._

And then they were within speaking distance. "Apprentice Eilan, I presume?" At the man's nod, he bowed respectfully. "I apologize for the delay, my lord. Lieutenant Malavai Quinn—I'm to be your liaison here on Balmorra."

The Sith smiled as if at some private joke, but simply replied, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant." His speech was well-enunciated and his accent was clearly Kaasian; if he were truly non-Imperial, as Quinn suspected, he'd certainly been well-tutored in all the proper mannerisms.

"And to you, my lord," the officer replied politely. "Lord Baras will brief you personally by holo, but I thought I should take a moment to acquaint you with the climate here on Balmorra first." He paused before continuing; some Sith had no patience for sitreps, or for non-Sith taking up roles of authority...

"By all means," Eilan said with a wave of his hand for the lieutenant to proceed.

"Thank you, my lord." Quinn brought up a map of Balmorra on the terminal, then zoomed in to frame the Markaran Plains. Several icons of varying colors dotted the map. "Even though the Empire wrestled control of Balmorra from the Republic during the war, we were never able to completely eradicate their forces. Now we're facing a rather sizable resistance movement." With a few keypresses, many of the icons began to blink, indicating previous and current locations of conflicts with resistance forces. "No one wants to admit it, but it's clear that the Republic is backing it."

The Sith apprentice stroked his chin thoughtfully, but he did not appear to be looking at the display; indeed, his gaze still seemed focused on Quinn—although it was difficult to tell with that visor in place.

_Visor... I don't see any allowance for vision at all—no eye slit, no perforations or screening... It looks like solid metal._

Casually, the lieutenant reset the blinking icons and started a repeating display that showed troop movements in waves of colored dots. The Twi'lek glanced over at the animation instinctively, but her master showed no sign of noticing.

"The Republic is violating the treaty, and we aren't calling them out on it?" the Sith asked, his tone neutral.

"We need solid evidence, my lord, something damning, and the resistance has been... circumspect, thus far," Quinn replied, watching Eilan carefully. _Could he be blind...? The Force can compensate for much, I understand, but..._

And then it all fell into place.

_The redactions in his dossier, the lack of personal historical information... He's not just non-Imperial... He's not even _human!

Coming into his own during the War, Quinn was quite familiar with many of the aliens who fought for the Republic. He'd seen any number of Miraluka among the Jedi, hooded or masked to protect their eyeless, but still vulnerable, sockets, and to avert the discomfort of their allies. Despite of—or more properly, because of—their blindness, they were _all_ Force adepts, and because they did not rely on sight, Miraluka Jedi could be dangerously unpredictable in combat, especially against non-Force users. Their entire species was a grotesque example of the flexibility of human adaptation.

The implications of the apprentice's true identity were staggering, and it was clear why such information would be left out of official documents. It was exceedingly rare for anyone who was not human or red-skinned Sith to be allowed into the Academy, let alone taken as an apprentice by someone as influential as a Darth. On top of that, Eilan had been raised in a noble household to be _married_ to the daughter of a Sith Lord. It was completely unheard of!

And yet, unless this was some sort of extremely elaborate double-bluff, it was happening. _I thought that it would be bad enough if he'd been an uplifted slave, but this is... unprecedented, to say the very least._

"Hm. Well, perhaps I'll have time to do something about that while I'm here," the apprentice was saying. Quinn realized he'd been staring at the other man a little too long, and he fervently hoped that his agitation hadn't been obvious. There was nothing in Eilan's tone to indicate such a thing, but the lieutenant certainly didn't know him well enough to be sure.

"Something tells me your presence here will leave an indelible impression on the state of things," he said carefully. That was only the truth, both in terms of Balmorra and in the greater sphere of the Empire. The removal of Commander Rylon would certainly be a blow to the resistance, and exposing the Republic's involvement would prove to the Galaxy at large that the Republic's hands were no cleaner than the Empire's.

If the Empire could then make significant progress in breaking the back of the resistance, Quinn might finally be recalled to more important, and more visible, assignments. Helping Darth Baras's apprentice was his sworn duty, but if, in doing so, he could earn Eilan's favor, such that the Sith would praise him to the proper ears...

Unless Darth Baras had greatly overestimated the abilities of his apprentice—which was highly unlikely, in Quinn's experience—pinning his hopes on the young Sith's success seemed like a winning bet.

"...And I look forward to it."

The apprentice tilted his head slightly in a quizzical expression, a hint of a smile on his lips. Before he could speak, however, the terminal behind Quinn beeped with an incoming message.

"Darth Baras on a secure line," he confirmed after a quick glance. "I'll patch him through immediately, my lord."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

Quinn bowed again and excused himself to his private quarters until the briefing was over. He had far too much to process and absorb at the moment, and a few minutes' time wouldn't put much of a dent in it, but he could at least attempt to regain his composure.

_An alien Sith, a hammer to crush the resistance, a disgrace for the Republic, a way off this planet. Have I been put in front of a windfall, or a land mine?_

* * *

_Author's Note: _Now that we're wandering into territory that actually occurs ingame... I'll occasionally be framing some of the actual in-game dialogue with the characters' thoughts and motivations behind it. That sort of thing is what motivates me to write fic in the first place - trying to grasp and explore what's going on behind the words we see/hear on the screen. Hopefully it's to good effect. :)


	5. Exit Strategy

"So... Do you get any special apprentice merit badges or Sith points or anything for that? 'Bonked a Darth', 500 points?"

Eilan chuckled at Vette's question, although he could tell she was honestly curious beneath the flippancy, even if she'd never admit it.

"Of course there are no tangible rewards—other than the extremely obvious." He smirked at the Twi'lek's comedic sound of disgust. "I can hope, though, that Darth Lachris will remember me fondly." Balmorra's new Imperial authority had certainly left an impression on _him_, but he was a fairly green apprentice and she was a Darth, beholden to a master who served on the Dark Council. Perhaps she went through lovers like cheap holonovels—read once and never again. He preferred to flatter himself with the thought, though, that he had earned her attentions through his particular blend of battle prowess and charisma, and not simply because she'd been bored and he'd been fresh meat.

_I _was _the one to initiate the dance,_the apprentice thought, _but I suppose time will tell._ "Some Sith like to burn things down," he continued his explanation to Vette as the two of them walked through the Sobrik spaceport to his waiting ship. "That has its appeal, I'll be the first to admit... but I also like to build things."

"You mean like alliances," Vette mused.

"Precisely. 'Alliance' might be too formal a term, but that's the gist of it. I _am_ quite good at making friends, if I want to."

"Is _that_ what they're calling it now?"

Eilan grinned at his companion's wry tone. "Unfortunately, that brand of diplomacy won't work on everyone."

"Ugh. With some of these Sith Lords you've been running errands for, I wouldn't call it _unfortunate _at all."

"How judgmental of you, Vette," the Miraluka said in a mock-chiding tone, not quite suppressing a smirk.

"Look, I know _you_ can't see them, but... _ugh,_" Vette repeated for emphasis.

Eilan simply snorted in amusement as something else caught his attention. He slowed his pace slightly, prompting Vette to match his strides. "Speaking of people who are easy on the eyes... We seem to have a send-off committee."

"Who, Captain Cardboard?" They'd not yet crossed onto the floor of the hangar proper, but the Twi'lek followed her "master's" drift well enough to know who he meant. She had been less than impressed with their liaison's stiff, by-the-book professionalism.

"Mm, the very same." Eilan greatly appreciated Vette's ability to keep up with his unspoken thoughts. It shouldn't have surprised him; she'd made her living for a while as a treasure hunter, and that must have demanded quick wits, but it continually delighted him when she could follow his line of thought without him having to spell it out.

"What's he want, a recommendation letter?"

"Ha. Possibly." He still found it frustratingly difficult to get an impression of the newly promoted captain's emotions, and that left him less prepared for unexpected turns like this. "I suppose we'll find out in a moment. If he kills me, shoot him in the face for me, hmm?"

"Sure thing, boss."

The officer stood at parade rest near the boarding ramp of Eilan's _Fury_-class Interceptor, _Katarr's Curse_, but quickly snapped to attention as soon as the Sith entered the hangar. Although Eilan could make nothing of Quinn's emotions, he could feel the physical signs of tension in the man's bearing. Tension over what, though?

"My lord, I hope you don't find my appearance here obtrusive," the captain said apologetically once Eilan drew within speaking distance. "I beg an audience."

"Begging does not become an officer," Eilan admonished him, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Quinn either didn't see the teasing for what it was, or decided to address it at face value, perhaps to prove his own sincerity. "Pardon my word choice, my lord," he acknowledged with a slight bow. "I will speak plainly. As you know, Lord Baras enabled my reassignment anywhere I choose. It is an evolution I've longed for and assumed would never come."

The Miraluka nodded in understanding. He could only imagine how much it pained someone of Quinn's obvious intelligence and competence to be sidelined, with no real hope for promotion. Getting a free ticket off of Balmorra to posting of his own choosing must have seemed like nothing short of a miracle.

It was, in fact, _so_ miraculous that it made Eilan wonder at Darth Baras's motives. Ten years on Balmorra, and it had taken this particular mission to finally repay whatever debt Quinn owed? It seemed more likely that Baras was moving Quinn at this moment for some other purpose; the captain _was_ very good at what he did, and could surely be an asset elsewhere. But that still left the question of why he was _here _at this moment.

"Aiding your mission on this planet has reawakened the ambition that I began my career with," the captain continued in quiet fervor, "to make the most profound impact possible for the Empire."

_Hmm. A true patriot, it would seem. Does one _really _enter the military with that sort of goal in mind?_ Eilan wondered idly. _I'd expect such lofty dreams from a Sith, of course, but an Imperial? How interesting. Still, I suppose ambition is the lifeblood of the realm, whether one wields the Force or not. _"Then welcome back to life, Quinn," he said, coalescing some of his thoughts into words.

"That is how it feels, my lord." Quinn smiled briefly, and for a moment, Eilan felt a flicker of simple pleasure through the Force. _Ha. He's so happy that it's showing through this... shield, whatever it is. That's almost endearing. _"I cannot think of a more glorious and honorable way to make a difference in the galaxy than to serve you," the man continued before gracefully dropping to one knee. "I'm here to pledge myself to you. I'm ready and willing to serve in whatever capacity you see fit."

_Aha. And suddenly all is explained._ Eilan looked down at the man kneeling before him, holding in the cynical laugh that threatened to burst forth. _As I set out into the galaxy cleaning up Baras's spies, he sics one on _me. _Delightful. _It was, the apprentice thought, something of a waste on Baras's part. He remained faithful, and had no plans to the contrary in the near-term. On the other hand, Quinn _was_ very useful, and if he helped Eilan achieve Baras's directives faster and more effectively, that was a win for both apprentice and master.

_I suppose the old man knows that even if I guess at Quinn's true purpose, he's too valuable for me to cast aside. _It was a neat little trap. Of course, he could refuse outright, but it was hard to know how Baras would react to that. Most likely, he'd find another agent further down the line. _Better the devil you know, hmm? At least _this _spy has manners and a nice voice to listen to. Speaking of which..._

"Whatever capacity I see fit? how exciting," the Sith drawled, the implication in his tone difficult to miss.

Vette grimaced and held her hand to her forehead in exasperation. Quinn, on the other hand, looked up at him quickly in apparent surprise. After an awkward beat of silence, he gathered his composure and continued his pitch, apparently judging the apprentice's comment safer to ignore than engage.

"My lord, if given the chance, I know I will prove myself to you. I'm a top-notch pilot, military strategist and a deadly shot. I can fly this ship, plan your battles, assess your enemies, and kill them." The captain said all of this matter-of-factly, without a hint of arrogance. "You won't find a more tireless and loyal subject. I offer my military prowess and dedicate every ounce of my strength to your cause."

_My cause, or Darth Baras's? _This wasn't the time to call him on it, however. That could wait until Eilan had figured out how to get a better read on the Captain—there was little point trying to pull out a confession if he couldn't be satisfied with its veracity. "You needn't market yourself like a new model of factotum droid, Quinn," he said with a slight smile. "I will be pleased to have you."

"The pleasure will be mine." There was a note of relief in the captain's voice as he rose to his feet. "Thank you, my lord," he said with a brief, respectful bow of his head. "I will submit my reassignment papers as we depart."

"Then let us waste no further time on Balmorran soil." Without waiting for a reply, Eilan strode past Quinn towards the _Curse_'s loading ramp. Behind him, Vette was silent, but he could pick up on her feelings of doubt. _Interesting—I don't think she trusts him either, but I'm not sure her reasons are the same as mine. We shall have to compare notes... somewhere where we won't be overheard._

_That_ was something he would need to be mindful of; he didn't find it at all unlikely that Quinn might bug the ship, and if he simply tried to neutralize the bugs, it would be an immediate signal that he was aware of the surveillance. No... he'd play along for as long as it remained harmless. There would be time later, he was sure, to reassess the situation.

_Until then... well, the game is on._ Eilan casually leaned in the doorway leading to the bridge as he heard the sounds of the hatch closing and an unfamiliar tread in the corridor. "Welcome aboard, Captain," he said with his most disarming smile.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Yes, I know cardboard doesn't make much sense in the setting, but - the connotation was too good to pass up. ;) Feel free to mentally substitute something more appropriate. ;D


	6. After-Action Report

"So, Captain," Eilan began, his voice barely loud enough to carry over the bustle and din of the casino, "care to try your hand at the games?"

Quinn shook his head. He still wasn't entirely sure why the unpredictable Sith had insisted on coming here, since he was apparently uninterested in the games himself. Surely, if he'd only wanted a drink to celebrate his incredible victory today, there were any number of other, quieter establishments he might have chosen. It was Nar Shaddaa, after all, and there were vendors for every vice.

"As a student of statistics, I can simply say that I'd prefer to keep my credits, my lord," he said matter-of-factly.

"Not even a hand or two of sabacc? That's as much tactics as luck, after all, and you do have such an excellent sabacc face." Eilan smirked at him over his glass of Arkanian sweet-milk.

Quinn wasn't entirely sure if the apprentice was mocking him, although _that_ seemed like a safe thing to bet on. Aside from battle, Eilan took very little seriously, it seemed. Perhaps it was a deflection technique to disguise his true feelings on matters? _Darth Baras asked that I learn how his apprentice thinks—that's clearly going to be harder than I anticipated._

"While I suspect I would fare better at sabacc than at a slot machine, my lord, I still see little reason to risk one's money so frivolously," he said out loud, wondering where the Sith was going with this line of conversation.

Eilan grinned and leaned in closer. "There are always other things to wager besides money, Captain."

Quinn swallowed hard and hoped, probably in vain, that the other man hadn't noticed. He should have predicted this angle of attack; Darth Baras's apprentice was, he'd discovered very quickly, one of those Sith who frequently pursued the ideal of "passion" in its physical interpretation, and he hadn't hesitated to make that very clear to Quinn. In the captain's experience, that wasn't all that unusual a state of mind for a Sith, but after being stuck on Balmorra for years, he was somewhat out of practice with politely fending off amorous lords and apprentices. Further complicating the issue was the fact that Eilan was his commander, as well as the apprentice of his ultimate master, Darth Baras. He had the right to refuse, to protest, but would doing so endanger his place on Eilan's crew, or in Baras's plans?

For that matter, even if he _wished _to accede to the apprentice's persistent and pervasive importuning, it would be a terrible breach of protocol. He was Eilan's immediate subordinate, and fraternization within the direct chain of command was so heavily discouraged that it was all but forbidden. _Why _isn't _it forbidden? _Quinn thought in the back of his mind. _The lack of a written rule simply encourages offenders to see themselves as a justified exception._ Then again, perhaps it was because of the tendencies of Sith like Eilan that no formal rule had been created...

Well. If he had no recourse within Imperial regulations, he would have to draw the line himself.

"Lord Eilan." The Miraluka was only an apprentice in the eyes of the Sith, but from mere Imperials, he rated a title of respect. "While I have no desire to curb your... fun"—the word did not often fall from Quinn's lips—"the sort of dalliance you're hinting at goes against established protocol."

"_Against established protocol_," Eilan echoed, his tone droll. "Since when have I struck you as a slave to protocol, Quinn?"

When he put it that way, Quinn did feel a little foolish for taking that particular approach. As an alien, Eilan's entire existence as a Sith was "against established protocol", and yet, here he was, thriving. Still, the apprentice generally didn't flout rules simply because he could get away with it; if Quinn could get him to treat his incessant flirtation the same way...

"With all due respect, my lord... it simply isn't—"

"Enough," the younger man interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You've made yourself clear on the matter, Captain." His teeth flashed in a quick, foxish grin. "Pity."

Before Quinn could find a reply, Eilan rose from his seat, gazing towards the bar. "I'm going to go see what kinds of 'good stuff' the bartender has hidden under the counter," he said with a knowing smirk. "Any requests?"

"Ah... no, but thank you for asking, my lord."

With a nod of acknowledgement, the apprentice turned and made his way to the bar, taking a circuitous route past some of the busier game tables and across the path of several of the scantily-clad serving girls.

_Did he leave because of my refusal?_ Quinn had to wonder. It was the logical conclusion, but the younger man didn't seem angry—and Sith, in general, seldom felt the need to restrain their anger. Somehow, Eilan's sudden concession made Quinn almost as uncomfortable as his flirting. Was it really that simple? All he'd had to do was ask?

He wondered if Darth Baras had had any inkling, when he tasked Quinn with joining Eilan's crew, that he would constantly have to deflect the young Sith's advances. Or... _No, he couldn't have assumed that I would try to ingratiate myself to Eilan that way, in order to earn his trust... Could he?_

Quinn didn't like any of the directions that line of thought was apt to travel. _Perhaps that's overthinking it. I doubt Baras is too concerned with _how _I study Eilan... only that I complete the task._ _If he had a specific plan, he would have laid it out._ _Probably_. Darth Baras knew far too many things and used his pawns ruthlessly; delivering one of his agents as bait didn't seem too far-fetched, when Quinn considered the idea objectively. It was not a reassuring thought.

_And speaking of Baras..._ He knew he would have to write up his report of the incident with Lord Rathari soon. Unexpectedly, he found himself somewhat torn as to how much he should disclose. Eilan had made some fascinating, clever choices. Bargaining with the besieged Republic troopers had been a stroke of genius, and the captain wondered if Eilan had anticipated the need to call in that favor—there seemed little reason to make such a deal otherwise. As for letting them walk away freely in the end... Quinn was of two minds about that, but perhaps the apprentice had a reason—besides his promise—to let them go. _I wonder if he'd actually tell me if I asked. _The Sith could be maddeningly evasive when he wished to be.

But Darth Baras would care little about the manipulation of a few Republic grunts. No, it was the disposition of Lord Rathari and Agent Dellocon he would be concerned with. Dellocon was dead, as ordered, but he'd been cut down not by Eilan, but by Lord Rathari himself, who had begged to serve the young apprentice who'd just defeated him with little difficulty.

It had been a remarkable fight. Rathari had half a head's height and probably twenty or twenty-five kilos on the younger Sith, but Eilan withstood the onslaught like a crag of rock being splashed by the tide. On the other hand, the apprentice was able to slice through Rathari's defenses with powerful, well-timed strikes, and it wasn't long before Eilan had his opponent at his mercy.

...And despite what Baras might have wished, that mercy was granted. Rathari had been seemingly awestruck by Eilan's power, and had opted to throw in with the apprentice, in the belief that Eilan would eventually defeat Baras. Eilan accepted Rathari's pledge without hesitation; perhaps after using one alliance of convenience so successfully, he was keen on setting up another.

Which brought Quinn to his current dilemma. Eilan had circumvented Baras's orders, to some extent. The captain had sworn to serve Eilan, of course, but his debt to Baras was older, deeper. Eilan showed no signs of rebellion against his master now, but wasn't that was most Sith came to, eventually? The conflict between master and apprentice? And when that day came, who would prevail?

Two days ago, Quinn's answer would have easily been "Baras", without a doubt. Watching Eilan's duel with Rathari had left his conviction a little shaken, however—and Rathari's immediate submission, even more so. He was no Sith to be able to _feel _someone's strength; he couldn't sense whatever Rathari had. But the Sith lord was a canny veteran, and surely wouldn't have been easy to impress. Was he right? Would Eilan be Baras's end?

Fortunately, cool pragmatism spared Quinn from his indecision, for now. Darth Baras would surely learn of Rathari's survival from other channels; if the captain didn't report such basic, and vital, information, he'd immediately place himself under suspicion. For his own sake, he had little choice in the matter. He'd make a full report, then, and let Baras use the information as he wished. He doubted Baras would act against his apprentice immediately, if he chose to do so at all, but this could be a useful tactical footnote whenever the time came.

If Baras saw Eilan as a threat, that reckoning would come sooner than later, and when it did...

That uncomfortable train of thought was broken as Eilan returned to their table with a triumphant grin, a bottle of vividly blue liquor, and a pair of tumblers rattling with ice. With exaggerated flourish, he set the two glasses down, unstoppered the bottle, and poured out a cautious measure of the alarmingly blue liquid into each. The drinks immediately began to fizz, producing a fine mist that hovered in the top half of the glasses like captive clouds.

Quinn didn't know what to expect from a drink that produced such a show, but he imagined it had to be potent. "A successful expedition, my lord?"

"Well, _I_ think so, at any rate," Eilan replied as he sat down. "Martovliian sky-nectar. I'm afraid the special effects are mostly lost on me, but the buxom young Twi'lek who described it for me seemed quite fascinated by it." He raised his glass close to his lips but did not drink, seemingly taking in the aroma. "I can feel the vapor, though, and the taste is certainly not to be scoffed at." He gestured with his glass for Quinn to try it.

Generally speaking, Quinn would never imbibe in a work situation, and in his mind, sitting with a Sith apprentice in a casino where he'd rather not be definitely qualified as _work_—it certainly wasn't pleasure. He had no doubt, however, that Eilan would pester him until he gave in and drank. Conceding defeat before the battle could begin, he raised his glass in a semi-formal salute.

"To your health, my lord," he murmured.

"And to yours, Captain." Eilan's tone was wry, as it so often was; again, he seemed to be laughing privately at something, or everything. He returned Quinn's toasting gesture, and the two of them drank, setting their glasses down with simultaneous _clinks_.

The liquor was sweet and aromatic, and oddly spicy; it took a moment for the alcohol to catch up with the intense flavor, and when it did, it came on rather suddenly, and with force. Quinn was glad they'd already eaten—this was not a drink for an empty stomach.

"Interesting," he managed to say in a neutral tone.

Eilan laughed, seeing through the captain's attempt to downplay the drink's strength. "Isn't it just? I bought the bottle; we can give Vette a glass, enjoy the show and all that, and save the rest for a suitable occasion."

"Does that mean we're leaving, my lord?" Quinn winced inwardly at the plaintive note in his voice, but he was more than ready to quit the casino—and Nar Shaddaa, for that matter.

"Why the rush?" The apprentice grinned teasingly. "Hmm... Perhaps you'd simply prefer Vette's company to mine?"

The insolent Twi'lek was little more than a nuisance to Quinn, and he knew Eilan was well aware of his feelings toward the girl. "I won't dignify that with a response," he replied with quiet aplomb, unwilling to give the younger man fuel for his mockery.

Eilan simply chuckled quietly as he rose from his seat. "As you like, Captain. 'Come, let us rest for a time, 'til that higher power calls us again to serve.'"

It wasn't until they'd reached the taxi stand that Quinn recognized the quote; it was from a classic Zeltron epic, highly regarded as a masterpiece of erotic literature. Eilan had left off the last part of the sentence:

_Come, let us rest for a time, 'til that higher power calls us again to serve; then we shall strive with one another again, skin against skin, to deliver that most glorious end—to see each other utterly unmade._

"Unmade" was one of the most common euphemisms in Zeltron literature; knowing that made the intent of the rest of the passage quite clear. It was, Quinn thought with a silent sigh, thoroughly inappropriate.

_And when it comes to Lord Eilan,_ he thought, resigned to the inevitable, _I suppose 'inappropriate' is only to be expected._

* * *

_Author's Note:_Why is Quinn familiar with erotic literature? Reasoning that out will be left as an exercise for the reader.


End file.
